The big question of the moment is this:
Was my friend Mrs farmer spinning me a yarn recently with
her tale of how the sheep couldn’t be moved into the next field because the
grass was too long and sheep are ill-equipped to eat long grass?
Well, as I reported last night, the next field has now been
mown, the hay made, and the bales removed to the barn ready for winter. This
evening I observed that the sheep had been moved onto the freshly mown pasture.
So were they grazing the short grass contentedly, possessed of renewed vigour
and facing life with a resurgent belief in the best of all possible worlds? No,
most of them were lined up at the top edge of the field with heads poked
through the wire fence, happily eating the long
grass on the strip of adjacent land.
What was really interesting was that several of them broke
away from this apparently perverse activity and walked past where I was leaning
over the gate. And as each one did, it stopped, turned its head in my
direction, and gave me a knowing look.
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